


Taking care

by deilen_gwyrdd



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-15
Updated: 2013-05-15
Packaged: 2017-12-11 23:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/804431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deilen_gwyrdd/pseuds/deilen_gwyrdd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leonard McCoy is feeling ill, Chekov will make sure he gets better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking care

**Author's Note:**

> Here's a little short McChekov fic I just had to get out of my head! I used my IPad... So I apologise for the terribleness! ^_~

Leonard McCoy felt sick to the stomach. His nose was running like a tap, his head was pounding away, his hands felt all clammy and sweaty. It was safe to say he was coming down with something, something he clearly did not want at this rate.

He'd tried everything already. Hyposprays, tablets, liquid medicine, even cups of hot tea. Nothing seemed to be working, because apparently his body couldn't care less about being ill. 

"Damn cold." McCoy growled, sneezing in the process. 

It didn't take many more sneezes, a few coughs and more than enough moaning and groaning for McCoy to be kicked out of sickbay. Nurse Chapel wasn't having any of his moping about, she practically ordered him out of the room, telling him to man up and get some rest before he set foot back in there.

So he had no choice but to yank his clothes off, fling them wherever he felt like it, and collapse into bed. The doctor tucked himself into the blankets, pulling them as tight as he could against him, it was almost like being trapped in a cocoon. But it felt so much better, he'd become quite cold since entering his quarters. Before he knew it he'd basically passed out, his nose was bunged up, and his shivering was slightly getting better, so he let himself drift off into a comfortable sleep. 

It wasn't until he felt a cold flannel being draped across his forehead that he woke up, he didn't open his eyes, he really didn't want to, but he clutched his blanket closer and turned onto his side. Suddenly his blanket was being pulled right off him, and McCoy gripped it tighter to keep it on, yanking it back with all the strength he could muster, he was cold and he wanted a damn blanket.

"Leonard, give me the blanket."

McCoy took a while to realise that it was Chekov that was speaking to him in that thick Russian accent of his, and it must have been him nicking his cover too. 

"Give me the blanket, Leonard." He whispered, a warm hand being placed on his bare neck. 

"No." McCoy grumbled against his pillow. "I'm cold."

Chekov sighed loudly. "You're boiling up, you've got a high fever."

"I'll sleep it off!" With that said, McCoy gave out a huge sneeze. "God damn it!"

"Here." Chekov handed him some tissues, helping him to turn over and sit up. "Now sit up properly, I need to cool you down."

McCoy hummed, blowing his nose and making the most disgusting noise he'd ever heard. He really hated being sick.

"Take this blanket off." Chekov told him, McCoy suddenly didn't care that his blanket was being removed, he just let his arms flap by his sides and rested his head against the wall. "You feel like you're on fire!" 

"I feel like I'm in a pool of god damn ice!" McCoy breathed out, his chest heaving against the mere strain of letting in air.

Chekov looked at him with saddened eyes, he hated seeing his lover like this, all weak and miserable, the utter opposite of who he really was. As soon as Chapel had told him McCoy had gone back to his quarters, leaving sickbay in her hands, he knew instantly that he was seriously sick. He knew too that McCoy hated being ill, it would get him down more than anything else could, he'd rather be on a dangerous planet surrounded by a group of Klingons than be stuck in bed with a blocked nose and a tickled chest.

Chekov sat closer to McCoy on the side of the bed, slowly and carefully dabbing at the doctor's chest with the wet cloth, hoping it would cool his body down a little. He was sweating like he'd just ran a marathon, and his face had turned a dark shade of red. 

Chekov gently traced the flannel up and around McCoy's neck, dipping it back into the bowl of cold water he had beside the bed now and then, just to make it more cooler for him. McCoy seemed to have relaxed a bit, his breathing evened out, and his shivering had stopped which Chekov was grateful for.

"You know," McCoy began, catching Chekov's attention, who started wiping the cloth over his forehead. "I never thank you enough for what you do for me, Pavel."

Chekov was caught off guard by his words, and stopped what he was doing to gaze up at McCoy, who had opened his eyes and was looking straight at him. "There is no need, I do these things because I love you."

McCoy smiled at that, and grabbed onto Chekov's hand. "I love you too, sweetheart. Thank you for looking after me."

Chekov smiled. "I told you, you don't have to thank me."

"I know." McCoy squeezed his hand gently. "But I really am grateful. You don't have to sit around taking care of an old man like me."

Chekov chuckled softly, leaning closer on the bed. "I believe I do, otherwise you'd be moping around just like an old man for days."

McCoy laughed wholeheartedly, using his free hand to run through Chekov's bouncing curls. "You know me so well."

"Da." Chekov grinned, leaning forward to plant a sweet kiss on McCoy's lips.

"Whoah there Pavel!" McCoy pushed him away gently. "Kiss me and you'll catch my cold!"

Chekov rolled his eyes. "I'll go get a hypospray later."

"Go get one now! I don't want you catching this!" McCoy basically demanded, he didn't want the poor boy to be getting sick because if him.

"Leonard." Chekov took a hold of his hands, and looked him dead in the eyes. "I will get it later, I promise. As of now, you need to lay down, blankets off, while I give you one of those massages that you love, and then I will get you some more medicine and a nice cup of tea."

McCoy's eyebrows raised. "My, you're bossier than I thought."

Chekov shrugged, a smirk appearing at the corner of his lips. "Get used to it, doctor McCoy."

With that said, Chekov got up off the bed and yanked the blankets off of the bed, slinging them into the corner of the room. McCoy chuckled as Chekov knelt over him, straddling his hips and pushing him down to lay on his back. If McCoy wasn't coughing up his lungs half the time, he wouldn't be able to control himself with Chekov sitting on him like that.

"Turn over." Chekov told him.

McCoy did as he was told, and slowly he got onto his stomach, feeling Chekov's weight settle on this thighs. Then he felt the soft, warm hands of the Russian rest at the bottom of his back, slowly rubbing soothing circles across the skin. His hands travelled up, digging his palms into the middle of McCoy's back, untying the painful knots that had McCoy's back feeling terrible every single day. Chekov's massages were always the best.

Before he knew it, McCoy had fallen asleep, cold practically forgotten as he felt the feathery touch of Chekov's hands running up and down his body. It was darker in the room when he woke up, the lights dimmed and the intercoms switched off. It wasn't until he tried to get up that he realised Chekov was beside him.

The young Russian was sleeping next to him, soft breathing and a small smile on his face. His hands were tucked under the pillow they both had their heads on, and one of his legs was slung over McCoy's own leg, that little touch bringing a smile to the doctor. 

He soon noticed the medicine sitting on the bedside table, along with a hypospray that he'd promised to get for himself, he too had gotten a bottle of water and a box of tissues. McCoy laughed quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. The navigator may only be seventeen, but he had such a heart of gold and he was more than just a teenager working on a ship.

McCoy was feeling slightly better than he had been, but still there was the stuffy nose and the tickling in his chest that wouldn't go away. Instead of trying to rid of it by coughing, he didn't want to wake his other half, he took a sip of the water, trying very hard not to fall on top of Chekov as he leaned over.

Silently, and very delicately McCoy fell back onto the bed, and turned onto his side to face Chekov. He watched Chekov for a while, noticing the prominent freckles that were scattered along his nose and across his cheeks, the long eyelashes he had, his soft lips that were a light shade of pink. The Russian boy was his little angel.

McCoy reached out a hand, running his fingertips across Chekov's forehead and down his red tinted cheek, then slipping over his shoulder and sliding down his arm to rest on his waist. Then Chekov sighed in his sleep, budging just a little closer to the doctor. McCoy smiled to himself, he really was a lucky bastard to have him.


End file.
